


The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally

by BardicRaven



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alliances, And apologizes sufficiently and sinceriously., And he did and there is, Canonical Character Death, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies, Episode: s03e09 The Climb, Episode: s03e10 The Return Part 1, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, If he's lucky., Moving On, Olicity...maybe., Prodigal son, Survival, Team Dynamics, Uneasy Allies, eventually. - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mutual desires can make allies out of the most unusual suspects. And avians.</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>Update: final chapter of this story, tho' not necessarily of this Universe - cha15 up - 04-11-15 (Arrow-Muse(s) still going strong - yay!)</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ending... and a Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending... and the beginning.

>>>\----------->

“It's Ra's' custom to leave behind the instrument of death, as a memorial to honor the fallen.”

Malcolm Merlyn set the blood-stained sword down on the cabinet-top, turned to face the room, the team standing there watching him in stunned and shattered silence. 

“Oliver Queen is dead.”

“You need me.”

“Do you have a death-wish?” Diggle snapped.

Merlyn smiled. "Believe it or not, Diggle, there are worse things in this city than me. And you're about to meet all of them. Without Oliver. I can help you. You can help me. I suggest we put our petty differences aside in favor of mutual survival."

“I wouldn't call them petty...”

“Stop it! Both of you.” Merlyn merely quirked an eyebrow at Felicity's outburst, but Diggle subsided, reluctantly. “What proof do you have, Merlyn?”

“None that you would believe in, my little silicon blonde.” He gestured and a small round piece of mirrored-glass materialized out of thin air. At the sighs of disbelief, he snapped, “Oh, really – do you people _ever_ pay attention to details? Names have meaning, have power. I am not called Merlyn for nothing.”

“Here. Here's your proof. The only kind I have for you. It's not like I was there in person to snap a video.”

“Like you did with Thea.” Felicity's voice, hard and angry.

“Let us not speak of the past, shall we? It's over and done, and what's far more important is what's in your future.”

“Watch.” And the glass grew foggy, then cleared to show a fight on a mountaintop, one that Felicity knew she had seen before, for all that was impossible.

She watched, horrified, as... almost, but so fatally not-quite, and Oliver died, in front of her, as she had known he had, for all she had prayed, had hoped, that it would be otherwise.

“What are those words?” was all she asked.

“A blessing for the dead, that they may rest easy. Turns out our Oliver managed to impress Ra's al Ghul. Not enough to spare his life, of course, but then you know how confining tradition can be.” He smiled at her in a way that left Felicity acutely aware of every one of the nearly five thousand years of the Judaic tradition.

“At least I _have_ faith,” she retorted. “Whereas all I see from you is blood and death.”

“I have faith – in human nature, and in the best ways to exploit it.” He gestured again, and the mirrored-glass disappeared. “However, we waste time. Will you accept my offer? Or do you, too, covet death that much?”

“I'd like more proof that what you say is true. You don't exactly have the best track record with that around here.”

“Fine. Don't believe me. But don't come crying to me when the wolves are at your door.” He began to walk away, then turned back just before he got to the side-door leading to the courtyard. “Make no mistake – they _are_ coming. Oliver left you to die – I won't. As I told him, this was my city first, and I have no desire to see it perish. That is the one thing on which we can all agree. The enemy of my enemy can be my ally. Remember that.”

He turned back, made a gesture, and the door opened. “You'll know how to find me, when you're ready.”

And he was gone.


	2. Falcon in the Nighttime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Merlyn is many things, all of them complicated.

Malcolm Merlyn was far more shaken than he would ever let them see.

Oliver Queen was dead. The son of his heart was as dead as the son of his body. The game was over and his own life forfeit along the way.

He had gambled and lost and now the question was whether to fight or run.

There was a part of him that said to take Thea and run, disappear as he had done before, survive by never standing still, always being that one step ahead of the League and its arrows in the night.

But there was another part that had said no less than the truth - to Felicity, to Oliver all those months ago. Starling had been his city first, and for all he had ruled with an iron fist and black arrows in the night, still, he would not willingly see it die.

So. A choice. A test. For both himself and the Universe.

If Oliver's team called him before his preparations were ready, he'd stay. Help them fight the madness taking over the city. Put aside the question of running for another day.

But if they did not, if they were either too foolish or too slow to take him up on his offer, then sobeit. He'd take Thea and disappear into the night, never to be seen by mortal eyes again.

Not the way he preferred to live, certainly, and definitely not what he had wanted for his daughter, but if that was what Fate would hand him, then that was what would be.

But there was nothing wrong with stacking the deck in his favor. He reached out with his mind, set some things in motion. The energies could be traced, but it was no secret where he was anyway.

The secret was in what he had up his sleeve and what he could pull together out of his own resources and what Oliver had left behind.

That was the uncertainty, the question that could keep the League off-balance just enough, if played correctly.

They might play their games boldly and with little care for individual lives, but still they relied on invisibility for their survival as much as the rest of them did.

That was the trouble with living in the shadowed-world. It gave you great freedom of movement, but if ever the glamour were broken, it left you vulnerable, open to attack.

Malcolm didn't want the League. He only wanted the blood-debt erased. Anything more would be far too many rules, far too much restriction for his taste.

He wanted to live. For himself, naturally, but also for Thea. Despite what the world, or rather, that part of it that had belonged to Oliver Queen, thought, he did truly care for her.

He simply saw the world in different terms than they did.

But he was quite certain that they would welcome her blades, just the same. As they would welcome his arrows, his knowledge, his skills both mundane and arcane. As he had told them, he was not called Merlyn in this world, nor Al Sa-Her, the Magician, in the other, for nothing.

He had no illusions about Thea remaining ignorant of Oliver's death. He simply did not desire to be the one to tell her. And he hoped, prayed if such a thing can be applied to one who has believed in no higher power than himself for years, that whoever told her would be kind, would not tell her of his treachery, his poor attempt to buy her life with her brother's risk.

His failure in buying only her brother's death.

>>>\----------->

His relationship with Oliver Queen was... complicated.

For all he was another man's son, Malcolm understood Oliver far better than he had ever understood his own blood. In fact, if it hadn't been for the way that Oliver so strongly resembled Robert Queen and so strongly did not resemble himself, he might have wondered if the boys had been switched at birth.

He'd seen the streak of ruthlessness hidden deep within the boy, long before Oliver had taken that fateful voyage on the 'Queen's Gambit', had it tempered and honed in the fires of hell.

It was a ruthlessness that called to his own soul - an understanding of how the world worked... and more importantly, how the humans within it worked.

A cold practicality that would stop at nothing until the goal was achieved.

It was that cold practicality that had led him to set the plans in motion to force Oliver's hand, to have him go and free them all from the tyranny of Ra's al Ghul.

There was a part of him that asked, as he closed his eyes in horror at seeing the blood-stained sword in the snow, what he had been thinking, to send a mere boy against the likes of the 'Demon's Head'.

And to his shame, he found could not answer. Or at least with no answer that made sense in the cold light of day.

Had he truly thought that Oliver could win? Or had he merely succumbed to that foolish mortal thing known as hope?

No matter. Either way, Oliver Queen was dead.

The son of his heart.

The sum of his hopes.

And now, they would all pay the price for his foolishness.

>>>\----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)


	3. the only one who would understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Felicity gets a message from beyond the grave and ponders what to do about it.

>>>\----------->

When Merlyn had left, when she had sent her team out, not quite having to use her Loud Voice, but near enough, Felicity finally let herself do what she had been both wanting and dreading to do for days.

She pinged Oliver's phone.

She was disappointed, tho' not surprised, to find it gave a reading practically on top of her.

Of course he wouldn't have taken it with him.

Where he was going, he would have no need of it, and if he survived, he'd be back before there'd be cause to worry.

If not... well, then there wasn't any point anyway.

And in the meantime, he wouldn't want them knowing where he was going. Wouldn't want to take the chance of them following him, interfering in his plans. Of them putting themselves in danger for his sake.

She spent the rest of the night searching the Foundry in-between guiding her team, deliberately taking her time, carefully avoiding the one place she knew it would be, until she'd exhausted all other options.

It was, as she'd expected, tucked into the trunk that was his legacy from his time away.

There was also another phone there, with a note written in Oliver's hand lying on top.

She picked up the note, read.

_Felicity,_

_If you're reading this, then you're wondering if I'm ever coming back._

_I don't have the answer to that, but I do know this – Detective Lance will understand._

_So call him – if you have questions, if you need answers._

_I'll be back as soon as I can._

_-Oliver_

She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, carefully picked up the two phones, shut the trunk, walked back over to her station, sat down, all the while looking at her hands as if they contained something dangerous.

She slipped Oliver's phone into her purse, set the burner phone he used as Arrow on her station.

She'd think about what Oliver had said.

After her run-in with the man, she wasn't as sure as Oliver obviously was that he was a good person for her to talk to, but she'd think about it.

>>>\----------->

In the end, her hand was forced. A call came in as the city exploded in violence, held captive by terror as Brick firmed his hold on the city.

Felicity thought about not answering, but decided to follow Oliver's advice one last time.

“Arrow.” she said, as she accepted the call.

“Who is this?” Detective Lance's voice was hard, suspicious.

“A friend. A member of the team.”

She could hear him thinking in the background. Finally he said, “I've a message for you to pass along to the Arrow.”

“We need him. And... we are prepared to offer amnesty for his help.”

Felicity closed her eyes. Took a deep breath before answering. “I'll let him know.” A pause, while she weighed her options, made a decision. “Detective. I need to talk to you.” She named a coffee-shop near the precinct.

“I'll be there.” A pause. “Be careful out there. The city isn't safe right now.”

 _It never was._ Felicity thought. _But we'd been working on that._

>>>\----------->

“So what's this all about, Felicity?” Detective Lance asked as he slid into the seat across from her in the tiny booth.

“The Arrow,” She managed to cover the fact that she'd almost used Oliver's name. “isn't here. Isn't going to be here.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again, looking hard at Felicity. “Mind telling me how you know?”

 _Yes,_ she thought but did not say. Out loud, she said, “He left a few days ago, to take care of something. Recently, we got word that... that something didn't go so well.” She took a deep breath, took the plunge. “The Arrow's dead, Detective.”

He sat back in shock. Took a long moment before saying, “I'm sorry, Felicity.” 

“Me too.” She paused. “Before he left, he told me that if anything happened, I should talk to you. Said you'd understand. I don't know what he meant by that.”

Detective Lance looked away, seeing memory rather than the four walls that surrounded them. “I think I know.” He took a sip of his coffee, grimaced at the taste. For a coffee-shop so near to a cop-shop, you'd think they'd know how to make better coffee. “He knew you'd be asking yourself 'why?'. 'Why did this happen?' 'Why'd I let him go?' A thousand words of blame, asking yourself why you didn't know the future.”

Felicity looked at him knowingly. “I'm guessing that this comes from experience.”

“I used to be married once, so yeah, you could say that.” He met her eyes. “And I've been a cop a long time. Even before I was promoted, I still had to send my people out, never knowing if they'd be coming back. And when they didn't, or came back hurt, I always blamed myself for not being super-human. For not being able to know the future.”

“Don't blame yourself, Felicity. I'm guessing this had something to do with his job.” She started to say something. He shook his head. “I'm not asking. It's better if I don't know.”

“All I'm saying is don't grieve for the things you can't help. That way lies madness.”

He put money down on the table, slid out of the booth to stand there, watching her. He reached out a hand, touched her shoulder in that way that Oliver always had. Felicity closed her eyes against the pain.

“I should get back. You and the rest of your team take care of yourselves.” She jumped under his hand. “I told you – I've been a cop a long time. Besides, it's not like you haven't been on the news. I'll see what I can do to get the invitation extended to include all of you.” He paused. “And if you need to talk again, you have my number. This sort of thing isn't easy.”

To her look of inquiry, he said, “Grieving. Or leading.” He turned to go. “Take your pick.”

Behind him, Felicity nodded to herself. The man was right. They weren't, neither one of them. But she could breathe a little easier now, knowing that out there, there was at least one person who understood.

She paid the bill and left. Right now, she had a job to get back to, a city to help save.

And they weren't going to get done on their own.

>>>\----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### An update for an Arrow-episode afternoon.
> 
> ##### -B!


	4. Smaller than an Atom, Larger than the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Felicity muses on heroism and her heart.

Felicity sat at her desk at the former Queen, Consolidated, now Palmer Technologies, and took a moment to note the ironies.

Of sitting in what used to be Oliver's office.

Of doing what used to be Oliver's job.

In the daytime or in the night-time, take your pick.

She hadn't been getting a lot of sleep of late, usually just a few hurried hours in-between the time she got off work here and the time that her team started arriving at the Foundry.

Ray had been quietly supportive, not asking her inconvenient questions, such as 'why', and for both of those things, Felicity was grateful.

She was also worried. It seems she did indeed have a type, and Ray was seeking to follow Oliver in the hero-department.

She was helping him, for now, but she found herself wondering how it would all end.

For him.

For herself.

She noticed herself becoming attracted to him, and allowed her heart to drift with the release of ambiguity.

But at the same time, she did not want to take the risk of loving another hero. Another man with a heart as big as the sea, for all he never spoke of it.

Only showed it in the nighttime.

It was too hard. 

Too hard to take the risk of losing every night.

Too hard to hide the secrets.

From the world.

From yourself.

Increasingly, she felt the conflict between her desires – the executive, who desired to see her company succeed, and the woman, who only desired that the man she was coming to love remain safe. 

She hadn't told him yet – she didn't want to have to explain the reasons for her conflict of interest.

Someday, she knew she'd have to tell him.

Just not today.

She turned back to her work.

It wasn't going to get done by itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)


	5. Running Out of Expletives and Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Felicity runs out of expletives, options, and patience.

>>>\----------->

“I am running out of expletives!” Felicity said, a few days later. Merlyn had been right, damn him. The city was exploding, and they were helpless to do anything about it.

“What?” Diggle laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, bringing as it did no comfort and far too much memory, typed some more, swore again.

“There's too much! Everything we do, every fire we put out, a dozen more spring up in its place. We don't have enough resources to handle this.” Her voice grew high, shrill.

“Calm down, Felicity. There must be something we can do.”

“There is. But I don't like it.”

“You don't mean....”

“Yes, I do.”

“How would we...” Diggle trailed off, looked at Felicity. “You know Oliver's not going to like this.”

“Oliver's dead. We're not. I'm calling Thea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### Extremely short, so you'll find this and one more for a total of two for a new episode's reading pleasure.
> 
> ##### As ever, please comment and share as you feel appropriate - they really do feed the Muse(s) and my writerly soul.
> 
> ##### -B!


	6. A Glass to Honor the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Felicity shares a drink and a tale with Thea (Malcolm) Queen, tho' perhaps not QUITE all of the details.

>>>\----------->

To say that Thea (Merlyn) Queen was astonished to receive Felicity's call would be an understatement, all the more so when Felicity told her why, leaving out the fact of Oliver's death.

She called her father privately first, to find out the truth of Felicity's words. Her astonishment grew all the more when he confirmed Felicity's story.

Before she set up the meeting, however, she called Felicity back. “So... why do you want to get in touch with my father? He and Oliver haven't exactly seen eye to eye.”

Unspoken, but clearly understood, was the message, _And we all know you are my brother's little pet hacker._

“Has Merlyn talked to you about Oliver recently?” Felicity asked, dreading the answer. As angry as she was with both Merlyns for their parts in her current grief, and how much she suspected she already knew the answer from how many times Oliver's phone had buzzed in her purse with unanswered calls from his sister, still, she did not want to be the one to have to tell Thea the truth of her brother's death.

“No. Should he?” Suspicion laced her voice.

Felicity sighed. “Thea, we need to talk. I'll meet you at Verdant, tonight, before it opens.” Felicity knew that Roy would be there, could be there for Thea in a way that she could never bring herself to be.

>>>\----------->

“So, what's this all about?” Thea met Felicity at Verdant's main bar. The room was still empty, for now, but all too soon, the noise and bustle of the nighttime would break over this space, shattering the silence as her news would shortly shatter yet another heart.

Felicity spoke the words, for once small and few, all the while wishing desperately for the familiar cloak and comfort of a ramble. “I am so, so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but...”

Thea froze, closed her eyes. “My brother is dead, isn't he?”

“Yes.” Such a simple word, but one with so many words contained within it. Multitudes. All useless to do the one thing that all of them desired – bring Oliver back home to them, safe.

“How?”

“It's probably better if you don't know.”

“How?” And in the steel within her voice, there was that shadow of Oliver, that made Felicity catch her breath for just a moment, steel herself against the tears that threatened to fall.

“Thea. You don't want to know.” _Please, listen to me,_ Felicity begged wordlessly. But like brother, like sister, and in this, the siblings were alike.

“Tell me. I need to know.”

“Fine.” She looked at Thea, pulled out some money, put it on the bar. “But not sober. Bring a bottle. This is going to take a while.”

She walked over to a table, sat down, steeled herself against the words that she would have to say.

>>>\----------->

“Your brother loved you, Thea.” she began. _More than me,_ she thought but did not say. “Family meant a lot to him, as you know.” 

“I know. Sometimes too much.” 

Felicity smiled a small smile that said, _No arguments there._

“Well...” and she told her everything. About Sara. About Laurel. About Oliver. About the Arrow. About his sacrifice. 

But the one thing she did not tell her, the one part of the story she changed, echoing, if she had but known it, Oliver's story to the League, was that it had been Malcolm who had ultimately betrayed them all, set this game in motion, a win-win scenario for no-one but himself. 

Partly, it was because she knew they needed him, they would need them both, and she didn't feel like playing the constant referee between them. 

Partly, it was because as much as her own heart ached, she found that she couldn't reveal that last truth, the one that would leave Thea's world as shattered as her own. 

Mostly because, no matter how you played it, it was a truth that would bring no-one any good, and a lot of people pain. And Felicity couldn't bear the thought of any more pain right now. 

When she was finished, so was a good portion of the bottle, and it hadn't been small. Felicity knew she'd pay for this in the morning, but right now, she didn't care. 

"So, what will you do now?” Thea asked.

“What we need to do, to survive.” Felicity responded. 

“What can I do to help?” 

“I thought you'd never ask.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### So there you go. Was hoping to be further along in the posting, so that I could have proof of my seeing the necessity of Merlyn joining Team Arrow, however temporarily and in whatever fringe capacity, but alas, not quite.
> 
> ##### Still, I hope you enjoy tonight's installments. Please and thank you, review and share on social media as you find appropriate. Comments really do feel the Muse(s) and my writer's soul.
> 
> ##### -B!


	7. A Different Sort of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Diggle is not happy, but is resigned to his fate.

Diggle wasn't happy that Thea was joining the team, never mind her father. While he could, barely, see the logic of it, he wasn't ready to accept this new reality.

This one where things happened that he knew Oliver would not have wanted.

While he'd been the one to caution first about believing in Oliver's automatic survival, at the same time, he found himself unwilling to throw away the team as it had been. The pattern as it had been.

Although of course, it wasn't as it had been.

There was no Oliver, leading, inspiring. Causing Change by his mere presence.

In the city, yes.

But most of all, in them.

In his team.

Even as he was unhappy about it, he had to admire the way Felicity stood strong through all of it, the way she took over Oliver's role, even using her Loud Voice on them, as Oliver had occasionally lost his temper and shouted.

He knew, intellectually, that teams changed. That members retired. Or died. This wasn't his first war, after all.

Just the first one he'd felt good about.

Like he was making a difference.

Like he had a choice in how the game was played.

So he wasn't happy at the changes that had come, were coming.

But he'd follow his orders. Do his best to carry them out.

John Diggle was a good soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### Thank Anakinflair for the update. Had it written, but wasn't going to post for a bit, then saw the lovely comment, had my required-writing done, so gave into a generous impulse.
> 
> ##### All to say that yes, comments really do feed the Muse(s) and my soul, and will get you updates much faster than silence will.
> 
> ##### -B!


	8. Of Merlins and Canaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which the birds are sent out to fly - and divided by predator and prey, for sanity's sake.

>>>\----------->

Laurel joined them too, insisting that she could uphold the peace for long enough, though she would not promise for longer.

She wanted in on this hunt, this chance to save a city imploding into chaos. She wanted revenge for Sara, peace for her own heart. Felicity thought about telling her that his going on crusade hadn't helped Oliver find peace, but she let the words die unspoken.

She knew Laurel wouldn't listen, as Oliver hadn't listened. Experience would teach her or it would not. 

And in the meantime, she could use the help.

The team seemed naturally to fall into two sides, divided along loyalties, lines of kinship of the heart and of bone.

Felicity took care in how she sent them out, mindful to always divide them along the lines of the birds whose names they bore: predator and prey. If she'd had the energy to spare, she might have been amused. As it was, she was simply grateful for the lack of ambiguity and the presence of discipline that kept her team from killing each other, as temporary as that peace might be.

So Diggle went with Laurel, most nights.

Merlyn would go alone, or sometimes with Thea.

Roy went with Thea, when she was not shadowing her father, tho' there were nights, far too many of them, that he went out alone, save for Felicity's voice in his ear, and in a small part of her mind, that was all she could spare, Felicity feared that Roy, too, was courting death, unable to bear the loss of his teacher, his friend.

But she had no time nor energy for thoughts of care, so she sent him out, as she did the others, and simply prayed for his safe return in the dawn's early light.

As he did, somewhat to her surprise, tho' always to her relief.

Together, they fought to save the city they all loved. Once or twice, Felicity even thought she detected Nyssa's presence, an arrow come from a direction it could not have, black shafts with white fletching she suspected she would find to be eagle feather, if she chose to look.

She did not, choosing instead to send a quiet thanks for the help, the gift of her teammate's safe return.

She would question the 'why', think about what price would be asked, later.

For now, survival was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### And that's your lot. Please to put a penny in the little box.
> 
> ##### *rattle*
> 
> ##### Or a comment into the comment box will do just fine. :D 
> 
> ##### -B!


	9. The Prodigal Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Oliver returns from the grave... and finds that the world hasn't stopped while he was away.

They fought. They survived. Bit by bit, they pushed back the darkness, this unlikely set of allies: Arsenal, Speedy, Black Canary, Dark Archer, Diggle, Felicity.

And then Oliver Queen returned, the prodigal son, perhaps not expecting the fatted calf, but certainly not expecting what he saw.

The night he returned, he was so startled by the sight that hit his eyes, he faded back into the shadows, slipping away before anyone knew he was there, although if he could have seen Malcolm's face and the small triumphant smile there, he might have known that his return was not quite as unheralded as he had thought.

He waited until Felicity was there, alone, before revealing himself.

“Felicity,” he began. She jumped, whirled, and Oliver found himself staring down the bolt of a crossbow, held in hands that were only shaking a little.

“Who are you?” she asked, cold and deadly.

His eyes narrowed, some part of him annoyed that she did not recognize him, tho' the larger part of him was proud for the way she sat there, the way the bolt did not waver from the killing shot.

He simply stood, waiting, a single quirked eyebrow his only answer. He waited, motionless, allowing his presence to be his answer.

Finally, “You can't be. He's dead. Who are you?” she asked again, fear beginning to lace her voice as thoughts of the impossible crept in, crumbling her worldview to dust, leaving only ashes behind.

Gently, “Reports of my death have been exaggerated before.”

“But... the sword. We all saw.”

“Just blood. Nothing more.” Even now, protecting her. This time, from the impossible, and all that it meant.

She shook her head. “No. We... I... saw you. On the mountain. Saw you die.”

His eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Merlyn...”

“...is a master of illusion. You saw what he wanted you to see.” Gentle voice, calming, soothing, offering comfort, protection, as he had done so many times before.

“Maybe.” She looked up at him, eyes pleading with him. For what? He could tell she wasn't sure.

“If I meant you harm, you'd be dead by now. So, why not take a chance on believing me?”

She looked into his eyes, long and hard. Then she nodded once, curtly, and lowered the crossbow.

“Fine. Besides, my team should be returning any moment now. They'll know what to make of you.”

“Yes, about that.” For a moment, he allowed the anger to get the better of him. “What do you mean allowing my sister. Laurel. _Merlyn_. into the Foundry?” With every word, he stepped closer to her, until he was looming over her, as he hadn't done since the beginning.

Now she knew he was real.

And she let her own temper fly, rising up to meet him as she'd done once before, back in the beginning.

“I needed them. We needed them. You left us to die, Oliver. You went to fight the most dangerous man in the world and you left us _nothing_. No idea of what to do if you failed.” A breath, half-choked by tears. “If you died.”

“So we did what we needed to, to survive.” She stepped forward and he gave ground. “And if you don't like it, too bad. You weren't here. We were.”

Outside, they both heard the sounds of the others returning.

He moved, lightening-fast, and was gone before she could say anything to stop him.

>>>\----------->

“Who was that?” Roy asked when they were all back, stowing weapons and stripping gear.

Felicity shook her head. “I don't know.” was all she'd say. _A ghost. A dream. The impossible._

Roy looked at her, eyes searching for... something. Whatever it was, he either didn't find it or decided to grant her the peace of not pursuing it, for which she was numbly grateful.

Her emotions had taken quite a beating tonight, as had her sense of reality.

She needed time.

Time to think.

And she knew just the person she needed to do that thinking with.

>>>\----------->

She said a hasty farewell, then headed out into the night, making sure to check her car before she got in.

She'd received quite an earful from both Oliver and Diggle, later, about how she had been monumentally lucky that night that it had been Oliver in the backseat, and not a rapist, or worse.

Ever since, she'd been diligent about checking.

Nobody there tonight either, tho' she'd half-wondered if there might be.

She slid behind the wheel, pulled out her cell.

“Barry Allen.” came the voice, calm and collected.

“Barry, it's Felicity. I... I need to talk to you.” She named an all-night coffee-shop near her apartment.

“I'll be right there.”

>>>\----------->

Actually, it was more like several hours later. Even for the Flash, it still took time to run the six hundred miles between Central City and Starling.

But as soon as he could, he entered the coffee-shop to find Felicity sitting at a corner-booth, back to the wall, looking both determined and a little frightened.

He'd heard, of course. Came down to help them as often as he could. Let Felicity lean on him, in a way that she couldn't to her teammates any more, now that she was their leader.

So she leaned on Barry. He learned what it was like for those who stayed behind while the heroes did their thing, gained compassion for what it was like for Caitlin, for Cisco, for Wells.

And now he was here, tonight, as she sat in a corner-booth, surrounded by coffee and plates of lox-and-bagels.

Barry looked at the pile. Felicity shrugged. “Good carbs. Quality protein. Jewish comfort food.” 

Barry couldn't argue with that. And as usual, he was ravenous after his run.

He slid into the booth, dug in.

After he had eaten enough to send the blood-sugar headache firmly away, he pushed back the pile of empty plates to look at Felicity.

“So, what was so important that you asked me to come in the middle of the night?” He reached out across the table, shoving plates aside, to offer a hand to Felicity, who took it, held it tight as if he were the last connection she had to reality. “Not that I mind,” he said gently. “Not at all. I'll always be here for you. You know that. It just seems... a little unusual.”

“Try impossible.”

“Okay. I can do impossible. What do you mean?”

Her hand tightened on his, until he winced. She didn't let go. “Oliver. He came back. Tonight. In the Foundry. Or at least someone who says he's him. I really don't know. I mean, that's impossible, right?” Her eyes begged him to confirm the impossibility of what she said, but then, she was looking at someone who, by rights, should be impossible, and he was sitting right there.

She tried not to think of what that meant. Her world had been so tidy before Oliver Queen had come with his crusade and his chaos. A world of ones and zeros, of code that worked and code that did not, a comfortable, comforting world of black and white.

Then Oliver had come, with his tales and his questions, and she had learned to do the impossible. To be, what she would have considered, the impossible, if he had asked her just a few years before.

He had groomed her just as much as he had groomed Roy, for all the fields of play were different. He had shown her herself, shown her that she could be so much more than what she'd been, what she was when they first met.

And now... it was up to her to be that more, not just for herself any more, not just for a man she'd come to love, but for her city, those who had become her people.

As much as she might want to seek shelter in the past, that was not an option any more and deep down, she knew it.

She needed to be strong, or they were all lost. And if that strength involved believing that Oliver Queen had cheated death for real, then that is what she would believe. Until the world showed her otherwise.

But just because she had to believe in his reality, did not mean that she would easily forgive.

The strength that Oliver Queen had shown her existed in herself, she would now use to guard her heart.

“Felicity?” Barry asked.

“Hmm?” She jumped as his voice brought her back to the here-and-now.

“You went away on me there.”

“I'm sorry. It's been a long... well, you know.”

He gave her a compassionate look. “Look, if you want, I can run some tests, see if this man is really who he says he is. But I don't think that's why you asked me here.”

“You're asking me because... because I'm different now. A meta-human. And you're asking me if we've learned to cheat death.”

“No.” He thought of the woman he'd known for far too short a time, the one they'd code-named Plastique, dying in a war not of her choosing, tho' in a manner that was.

“So I don't know. I don't have the answers you want from me, Felicity. And I'm sorry for that. All I can say is, trust your heart. Verify with your head. Same way you live life.” He sighed. “And if you want, send me some samples. I'll do what I can.”

Felicity nodded. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### There you go... a nice, long chapter for a Arrow-episode evening.
> 
> ##### As ever, please comment,converse, and otherwise let me and my Muses know you're there - it helps the writing and the productivity immensely.
> 
> ##### -B!


	10. Crawling through Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Oliver Queen finds a new place... and a new peace, tho' crawling through broken glass would have been EVER so much easier.
> 
> And In Which, you, my dear reader, finally get the #Olicity Goodness you've been hoping for.

It galled. Worse than any torment from the island, from his life away, this wore at him, this knowledge that he had come home to find, that not only had they moved on without him, but that there was no easy place for him on his return.

Worse, that those he considered his enemies had come home to roost in places that he had dared to call safe, or at least call his.

There was no place for him any more, and he wondered if there ever would be.

Least of all, he doubted his chances to make it back into Felicity's heart.

At the moment, he'd settle for her good graces, tho' that was seeming unlikely too.

Ever since their angry words upon his return, Felicity had only spoken to him when she needed to, and only the bare minimum of words required to make her point.

When he saw her next, she seemed to have accepted that he was who he said he was, but that hadn't made a difference to her icy remoteness.

He didn't touch her, was afraid to. While he had always wanted Felicity to be safe, to be strong, he had never imagined that that would mean she would not have a place for him by her side.

Now, it looked as tho' she neither needed nor wanted anyone, least of all him.

So he respected that, the past leaving another razor-sharp line to bleed across his soul, his heart, every time she spoke in those clipped sentences to him, every time he reached out for her, only to pull his hand back, covering it with another move, every time she looked at him with nothing but the accusation of betrayal in her eyes.

Worst of all was the certain knowledge that she was right. He'd lied to her. He'd known that of course, but at the time, he truly thought it was, would be, better for her that way.

And it certainly had been easier for him.

He would have gone anyway. Of that he was certain. But it had been so much easier to leave, when he didn't have to face the repercussions of his words, had never expected to have to deal with the consequences of them.

That knowledge had been what had given him the courage to confess his love.

But now, a miracle he had not expected had given him life again, a debt of kindness and loyalty repaid, and he was faced with the fact that he had no idea of how to fix this with Felicity.

Or if he even could.

>>>\----------->

“Felicity,” he said on an evening when it was just the two of them in the Foundry, before any of the others had come to start their activities in the nighttime. “I have something I'd like to tell you.”

“If you want to confess, go see a priest.” At his silence, she turned from her keyboard. 

“That's right, isn't it?” All artlessly-light anger, with nothing else underneath to ease the sharpness, to show there was anything between them any more but pain.

“I'm not Catholic.” Confusion mixed with annoyance mixed with pain at the memory of the reflection of history.

“Oh. My bad.” She turned back to her work, firmly wearing the mask of the clueless blonde, one Oliver knew very well was never real when it came to her.

Oliver took a moment, considering, then chose. If this were going to be different, if he was going to prove to her that he'd changed, then the first thing he'd need to do was show her.

All right then. He wouldn't walk away in silence this time. He'd force himself to find the words.

And the fact that he'd find crawling through broken glass easier?

Wouldn't matter.

“Felicity, I was wrong.”

That did get her to turn around, look at him for real.

“I'm sorry?” The startlement was genuine, and that gave him the courage to go on.

“I said I was wrong.” 

“About?” Cautious question, but with a thin thread of hope woven through underneath.

“A lot of things. Most of them having to do with you.”

“Really.” He couldn't read anything from the flatness of the word, but the fact that she hadn't turned away, hadn't (yet) shut him out, gave him the courage to continue.

“Yes. Starting with the fact that I've been a coward when it's come to you. I've pushed you away, thinking it kept you safe, when the truth is, the only person it kept safe was me.”

Hope started to shine in the back of her eyes, so Oliver kept going.

“When I awoke... after... it was to a dream. One where I never left. One where I put you, us, first.”

“I don't know what would have happened. I woke before... before it got very far. But I do know this. If I had it to do over again, I still would have gone.” He swallowed at the soft cry Felicity did her best to hide. She started to turn away and he dared to reach out, to take the three quick steps across the room and stop her chair from turning.

He knelt down, put himself at eye-level. Dared again to reach out, this time to take her hands in his, hold her gaze with his own. “But I promise you, I would left you differently. I would have been far more honest with you about my chances. Trusted you to let me go anyway. Given you the tools, the connections you'd've needed, in case...”

She shook her head. “Don't say it. Please.”

He nodded, kept going. “And I would have told you earlier what was in my heart. It was a coward's trick to only tell you when I thought I was going to die, when I never expected to have to deal with the consequences of my words.”

“I've loved you for a long time, Felicity. No matter what I've said. But I've never been in a position where I felt I could take off the mask for long enough to love you the way you should be loved.”

“There's always been one more bad guy, one more mission, one more patrol, before I could tell you. And then it was too late, and there was only time as I walking out the door.”

“I didn't want to have never told you.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “So I told you and I kissed you and I walked away. That is the one thing I regret the most.”

“The kiss?” The hurt in her voice stabbed him through the heart again.

“No.” He held her hands tighter, trying to show her with his body that he meant every word he said. “That I never told you earlier.”

“I understand your anger. I don't blame you.” He shook his head. “I only hope that you can find it in your heart to give me another chance.”

He released her hands, stood up, began to pace. “And in that spirit, and I realize that you may go back to hating me once I say this, but I need to go back, finish what I started.”

She blanched, spun back to her screens. He stopped, reached out a hand to comfort her before he thought. And before he could move away, her hand reached up, pulled his close. He could feel her shaking with silent tears.

“I am sorry. More sorry than you can know. But I failed. Because of that, Thea is still in danger. Because of this... this miracle, I have a second chance to save her.”

“Please. Tell me you understand.” He pleaded with her now, as he'd pleaded with her then, sadly for the same reasons, that, beyond his desire, he had need to put his position ahead of his feelings, but that he hoped, he prayed she could, would forgive him.

Just one more time.

Whatever gods were out there were merciful. 

As was Felicity.

“I understand.” she said, slowly, dully. “I don't like it, but I understand.”

“There's one more thing.” Felicity looked up sharply, watching his reflection in her screens, not letting go of his hand so he could see her face. “For me to even have a chance, I'm going to need to train with someone who can give me the skill I need to defeat Ra's al Ghul.”

“You mean kill him.” she said flatly.

“All right.” He sighed. “Two things.”

At the expression he saw reflected back at him, Oliver hastily continued. “There are rumors... and after something Ra's al Ghul said to me when I issued my challenge, I'm inclined to believe those rumors.”

He took a breath. “I can't kill Ra's al Ghul. Because that's impossible.”

“He's immortal.”

At her incredulous look, Oliver said, “He said it had been sixty-seven years since the last time anyone had challenged him. He doesn't look anywhere near as old as he would have to be for that to be the truth.”

He shrugged. “Whether you believe that or not, the second thing you're not going to like is that the person I'm going to need to train with is...”

“Malcolm Merlyn.” they said in unison.

"What?" she said to his startled look. "Who else would it be?"

He nodded, gave her that.

"You okay with that?"

"Okay is probably a pretty big stretch right now.” she admitted. “I'd been looking forward to the day when we didn't have to work together any more, but to be fair, he's been a good ally. So, while I'm not happy about it, I'm not going to use my Loud Voice either, if that's what you're asking."

She finally turned around, tho' she did not let go of his hand. "I will ask you, though... are you sure?"

"Yes."

She nodded, letting him go. "All right. I'll trust you. But you'd better be right."

She paused, looked up at him. the renewed love and trust in her eyes healing something in his soul he'd thought broken beyond repair.

"Thank you." she said. _For trusting me. For coming back. For telling me the truth._

"You're welcome." He came back to her side, knelt down again by her chair.

Neither above nor below her.

Partners. 

"And thank you." _For forgiving me. For giving me another chance. For letting me tell you the truth._

She nodded. Reached out, ran her hand along his cheek. He leaned into the touch, grateful beyond words that he hadn't lost this forever.

"I'm glad you're back." she said.

He smiled, the first real one in far too long, as he took her other hand in his. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> #####  Here you go - a bit late, but a nice long bit to make up for it.
> 
> ##### We're coming to the end of what I've gotten written so far, so I'm not sure how fast updates will be coming in future, especially with the need to take bits of what has been happening on the show without necessarily taking the entirety of them.
> 
> ##### As ever, if you'd like to see more story, both here and my other fics, please leave comments, share on social media, and the like. Reader Response really, truly does feed the Muse(s) and my self.
> 
> ##### -B!


	11. Of Swords and Sorcery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Malcolm teaches Oliver (and Thea) how to fight, not only with the sword, but with the mind as well.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in Thea's loft. For all the relaxed setting, this was a council of war. 

Merlyn leaned forward, spoke, looking at neither of his children, neither the one of his body nor of his heart, but instead, staring at a space that only he could see. "It started because of a coin trick I used to play with Tommy. Remember, Oliver? I seem to recall playing it on you a couple of times when you were younger." His voice softened in a way that he allowed himself only rarely, when he dared to think about the past with something other than regret.

Merlyn made a gesture, and a coin appeared in his hand, this time quite obviously NOT the result of sleight-of-hand. He gestured again, and it disappeared.

Oliver nodded. “You did. Back before...”

“Yes.” Merlyn cut him off. “Back then.”

“Before Rachel died. Before I went to the League, asking them to turn my heart to stone. Before I became a killer.” He smiled a small, crooked smile that caused Oliver to shiver. Merlyn felt the movement, knew that Oliver knew that smile, all too well. "It may have started with stage magic, but it didn't end there. Ra's al Ghul saw something in me, and decided to make his daughter's name for me be the truth."

He looked at them then, saw the light of understanding in Oliver's eyes, the confusion in Thea's. He'd never taught her the arts of the mind, only of the sword, when she'd come to him, asking to be made strong. It would have taken far too long, required far too much explanation, and in the end, might not have served either of them as well, as what he'd done.

But now the time had come for her to learn the other Arts as well. To become the Sorceress to his Magician, to Oliver's Warrior, blending the arts of the mind with the arts of the sword until she became one with them both.

“So he taught me to bend reality to my Will, create my desires out of nothing but air, and then I became al Sa-Her, the Magician, in truth. It's part of what lets me do what I do so very well." His voice turned cold, and he felt the shivers from his children, reflections of the ice.

“Part of what's let me survive.” He caught their eyes in turn. “Part of what will let you survive.”

“So. Let's begin.” He rose gracefully, all compact power. Oliver and Thea did the same.

He turned to Oliver first. "Some of this you already know. Some of it you will learn now. Some of it would require far longer than you have in this life."

He magicked a brace of swords from out of thin air, tossing one to Oliver. 

"Begin." A flurry of blows. Oliver caught most of them, but one slipped through his guard. One was enough. He found himself on the floor, Malcolm's blade at this throat. "Careless. Careless gets you killed. Get up."

Oliver rose.

"Again."

When Oliver had repeated the pattern to Merlyn's sufficient satisfaction, he pulled another blade out of thin air, tossed it to Thea, had her join the pattern.

“Depend on her,” Merlyn snapped to Oliver, as he slipped through Oliver's guard again to draw another pin-prick of blood from what would have been a killing stroke had he followed through with it. “Thea is your partner. The shield to your sword. She is not weak. She does not need your protection.”

Oliver glared daggers at Malcolm, but changed his pattern, letting Thea take up her share of the fight. To his surprise, along with his anger as he thought about what must have happened for her to gain this level of skill, Thea blended with him smoothly, seamlessly joining with him to produce a deadly wall of steel that none could pass without peril.

Together, they fought on.

>>>\----------->

The days flowed into one another - hours of sword-work, strength-training, magick, exercises to hone the mind and the Will, improve the flexibility of body and mind, before an all-too-brief break then a night of patrol, to return to Thea's loft and start the process all over again.

None of them knew how much time they would have, so they sought to make the most out of every day. Sleep was a luxury, given only when they were too tired to focus properly, when the risk of injury became too great to ignore, and even then, grudgingly given and grudgingly taken.

The fear of failure, of not being ready in time, was too great to allow for anything more, anything less.

So they fought on.

Learning. Honing. Weapons. Will. Teamwork. The patterns breaking apart and coming together until they could fight as one, no matter who they were paired with, or if it were all three of them, blades flashing in the fire's light, illusion and reality mixing, blending, defense and offense, shield and sword.

The differences between them were put aside in favor of mutual survival, angers old and new saved for another time.

There would come a reckoning. There was no doubt of that.

But there was also no doubt that this was not the time for it.

Regardless of individual reluctance, or the personal cost, they all agreed that this was so.

And so, they fought on.

>>>\----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### And there you have it. A bit late, due to tech week for me in the offline world, but here nonetheless. A bit to tide you over in this pause-for-a-cause that I hear tell from Stephen Amell's FB page is currently happening. (I was a proper singer and went to rehearsal instead of staying home to watch the episode, so I don't know this yet myself.)
> 
> ##### If you enjoyed, and especially if you'd like to see more, please comment, share on social media, leave kudoes if you haven't. Knowing you're out there keeps me and my Muse(s) writing - and more importantly from your perspective - keeps us posting.
> 
> ##### -B!


	12. Of Choices and Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Malcolm and Thea and Oliver fought on, learning the lore of magick, of mind, of sword and sorcery, learning the harder tasks of teamwork, of trust, the ones they left behind faced choices too, changes coming, willing or no.
> 
> The pattern was changing. The puzzle breaking apart, reforming into something new, something different. But what? That was something none of them knew.
> 
> As was what they'd do about it.

## li'l hoodie stands tall

Roy stared out into the night, prayed for strength. He'd had the strength of the body, back when _mirakuru_ had turned him into a monster.

Oliver Queen had taken him in then, taught him how to temper that strength, focus it, control it.

On the night when he wanted to die, Oliver taught him strength of the mind, how to look inward for the answers the outward mind refused to show.

Oliver had saved his life. Not just the nights on the streets, although there were those too. No, this was far more than that.

Oliver had saved him, period. He'd shown him that there was another way to live, to survive. To do more than survive. To make an actual difference in this world.

He'd never had that before Oliver had taken him under his wing, shown this smart-mouth gang-banger than there was a chance for everyone.

Even him.

And now? Now he would do anything to save Oliver in return. To pay even a fraction of the debt he owed him.

But he wasn't sure what that looked like any more.

He was still far better with things he could hit. Simple equations of right and wrong, black and white.

He was learning to cope with the larger complexities, the larger ambiguities of playing God in the streets of Starling City.

But this. This situation they found themselves in was yet another level up, another layer of complex, of shifting sands and shifting loyalties.

He knew his loyalty would never falter.

He just wished he knew what that meant he should do.

He'd stood up for Thea, her right to know, to be there, to fight alongside them, when Oliver questioned it.

He'd stood beside Felicity as she kept them going. Lent her his strength, his courage, his skill with body and bow.

But were they enough? He didn't know the answer to that either.

So many questions. And he feared they wouldn't get the time, he wouldn't get the time, to answer them before they needed those answers to keep them alive, to keep their city alive.

And once again, they'd be fighting with no idea of what was coming next. An idea of what they were fighting for, yes, but an ideal is such a fragile thing compared to bullets and blood.

He worried for them. He worried for them all. As a leader did.

For Felicity, so torn now, Oliver's return not bringing her the peace she'd hoped for. Or rather, it had, a long-and-hard-fought peace finally forged between them, until Oliver had told her that he was leaving again, once again putting his fate in Malcolm Merlyn's hands. She'd kept it hidden from most of them, but Roy had seen her when she thought no-one else was looking, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her thumb worrying an arrowhead until she bled.

He'd wanted to go to her, but wasn't sure what to say, what he could do for her to ease her fear, her pain. The one thing he knew would ease it, he couldn't give her.

Oliver would leave again. Roy couldn't stop him from going, and wasn't sure he would if he could.

The only question was... would he come back? And if so, would he be the same Oliver who'd left?

For Thea, the woman of his own heart, facing the same challenge as her brother, leaving him with the same quandary as Felicity. That same worry – would she survive? Would she return to him? And what would happen when she did?

For Laurel, so angry. He recognized that anger. He'd seen it in the mirror every day for far too many years. He understood how she felt, why she was so determined to go out there, prove herself, no matter how much she hurt, how much she bled.

For Diggle, the quiet soldier. Content to fade into the background until he was needed, but always there with the word, the thought, the perspective they all needed. Oliver's death had hit him hard. Oliver's return had been a miracle. But how would Diggle react if Oliver didn't make it this time? If once again, he had to stand by and allow the man he followed to go into battle without him? To perhaps fall and die without him?

He worried for them all. And the only thing he could do for them was to do his job the very best way he could. Take the leadership of the team with Oliver gone, or as good as even when he was there, take Diggle's strategy and Felicity's skill and Laurel's sheer determination and do his best to make them into as powerful a fighting force as he could.

All the while wondering if it would be enough. If he would be enough.

But it didn't matter. What mattered was one more night. One more fight. One foot in front of the other.

One more arrow.

One more night.

He went back into the club.

Time to go to work.

 >>>\----------->

 

## the strength of a woman

Felicity sat there staring at her screens without seeing them. Oliver had been pushing himself for days now, weeks, really. Yes. It had just turned eight days, which made it officially weeks. If not by a lot.

There was so much in her life that felt not-by-a-lot these days. Safety. Security. Sanity.

There were times when she wondered why she was here, why she had ever left the safety of the I.T. department. And certainly why she had stayed away from it after her promised time was up.

Yes, she'd gotten sucked into the charismatic magic that was Oliver Queen's aura. Yes, she agreed to stay, to help him in his crusade.

And yes, she believed in him. In what he was doing.

And yet.

And yet so much of what Oliver Queen was terrified her. What he was. What he represented.

Yes, what he did.

At the end of the day, Oliver Queen inspired people. Herself among them. Inspired them to become more than they were. More than they thought themselves capable of.

Inspired them to do things they never thought they would.

Helping to kill people, however indirectly. Helping to hurt people, however much those people deserved it for hurting other people.

Her faith taught her that those things were absolutely forbidden, and yet....

And yet she found herself helping Oliver Queen do those things every night.

Somewhere, he had caught her up in the spell of his personality and never let her go.

Even in death, he'd held her captive. His returning to life had brought her no release.

In anger, in peace, he was always and ever there.

Why?

What was she doing here? Why was she here? Yes, she loved Oliver Queen, but she hated what he did.

She mistrusted the Arrow as much as she trusted Oliver Queen.

Yes, she knew intellectually they were the same person, but they seemed so different.

Oliver was kind, loyal, devoted to his family and his friends.

The Arrow was cold, distant, a remorseless killer. Perhaps more benign than others of his ilk, but no less dangerous for all that.

And while she knew they went after the ones that only they could take, the ones whom the law had failed to catch or keep, still, she found it difficult to resolve the conflict the situation brought her.

She thought about staying.

She thought about leaving.

She worried one of the small bolts they used, letting the sharp head leave thin trails of blood across her fingers, letting the pain bring her focus, until she realized what she was doing and carefully put the arrow down.

That wasn't the answer.

It wasn't. Pain and death couldn't be all there was.

Or there was no point.

To what they were doing.

To why they were here.

And there had to be a point.

A reason.

Computers never did anything without cause. For all that 'read programmer's mind' was a joke older than she was, it was also a comforting truth.

Times like these, she wished she could go back to comfortable, to the comforting life she'd had before.

The one that didn't challenge her.

The one that didn't force her to face uncomfortable truths about herself, about the world.

The one where arrows still looked silly and archers were just a word in the dictionary.

The one that, if she were forced to admit it, would have eventually bored her to tears.

And _that_ , again, if she were forced to admit it, was the thing that scared her the most.

The fact that, as it turned out, she didn't want the things she was 'supposed' to want. The safe life. The 9-5. The nice car and the nice job and the nice place to live. Or rather, she did want those things, but she wanted other things more.

Ice-blue eyes that challenged her to be more than what she was. A job that really meant something, even if it did involve arrows in the night.

May her family, her faith, forgive her. But that was what she wanted.

So she would stay. She'd found her answer. In ice-blue eyes and ice-cold screens.

She would stay and roll the dice in a higher-stakes game than ever she'd seen in Vegas.

And she would pray. Pray that the game was worth it. Pray that what she was doing was right in the eyes of God.

Because in the eyes of Man, she was choosing to step beyond the law, to put her heart, her soul, her talent behind a vigilante of immense charisma and dubious sanity.

But God help her, it was she wanted. And it would be enough.

 >>>\----------->

 

## black is not only for mourning

At first, Laurel put on the black out of anger. Rage. Despair.

Grief. At what would never be. At what would never be again.

Striking out blindly in the night because it made more sense than punishing herself through drugs, through drink. Because at least out there, she was making a difference. Helping someone else instead of hurting herself.

But gradually, during her time on the streets, it became about more than that.

From anger and despair, it became a passion for justice, the passion that she'd always had, but had always thought would only find such poor comfort as it could find in the courtroom.

From dealing pain to others because it beat dealing pain to herself, it became about defending those who could not defend themselves.

As she calmed on the inside, she calmed on the outside. She took her emotion and channelled it, forged it into a whirlwind of focused destruction.

Justice, sadly, might not always be found in a courtroom, but with luck and God's help and will, it would and could be found out here when it could not be found in there.

And that was an outcome she could live with. 

 >>>\----------->

 

## a captain in the army

He can't tell Felicity why he's doing this. Well, he can, and he has, but not all the reasons. There are reasons buried so deep in his heart, his soul, that they no longer have words to attach to them.

They are simply who he is. Why he is. Why he's doing what he's doing.

Why he's willing to take the risk on unknown tech, the gamble that the impossible can be made possible.

There are the simple reasons: that he wants no-one to have to grieve like he has grieved, to suffer as he has suffered.

There are the more complex reasons: that beyond everything, he desires to make more of a difference in this world than he has yet managed to do.

And the reason he doesn't openly admit to anyone, even himself: that if he fails, he's lost nothing, only gained the chance to see his lady-love once more.

And it is that reason that forces him to stop, to think about what he is doing.

No, not with the suit. Of that he is more certain than he's been of anything in his life.

No, this thought is about Felicity.

The woman he has come to care for almost as much as his Anna.

And yet.

And yet, he knows that she is still second in his heart and that is dangerous.

For both of them.

Her love will not hold him here, is not enough to hold him here, for all that a part of him wishes it might be so. And since he cannot promise her that in good faith, he knows he needs to let her go.

Before he takes that chance, gambles and loses, and while seeing the love of his heart once more, breaks the heart of the love of his head.

So he will take a breath and tell her, tell her of the things that cannot be, no matter how much he wishes things were different, wishes things were possible between them. And that, as unlikely as it may be to hear, to believe, he is saying these things precisely because he DOES love her, does care for her. Does respect her.

Respects her enough to treat her well.

To let her go.

He only hopes that Oliver will treat her well. Oh, he knows. He's known for a long time, suspected before that, that there was something more between the executive and his pretty, whip-smart assistant than just business.

How could there not be? Felicity was everything a man could desire in a woman: beautiful, smart, sexy, loyal.

Felicity was the woman of his days, yes.

No doubt about that.

But Anna is the woman of his dreams.

And God help them all, but he will live in dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### Apologies for this taking so long. The... interesting turn... the writing on the show has taken of late stole the heart from me when it came to my Arrow-fic, and I retreated into my original fic, the better to ease my pain.
> 
> ##### The show hasn't changed, but the need to say 'It doesn't have to be this way!!!' has grown, grown enough to overcome my fear, my pain, and allow me to write again.
> 
> ##### There are about three more chapters left after this one. They are all plotted, and mostly written. Not sure when they'll be posted - whether I'll go back to my once-a-week-on-Wednesdays, or will post a little faster as I fill in the final holes.
> 
> ##### As ever, a certain amount of that decision is up to you, my dear readers. If you'd like to see the updates sooner, please let me know you're out there - comments are an excellent way to do that.
> 
> ##### -B!


	13. Call to Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it was longer than they'd expected, but not as long as they would have desired.
> 
> Of love and leave-taking.

In the end, it was longer than they'd expected, but not as long as they would have desired.

The summons came in the form of a black-shafted, red-fletched arrow that whistled all-too-close to his head one night as he was out on patrol.

"You think us fools, Oliver Queen?" Nyssa asked as she stepped out of the shadows.

"No."

"Then why seek to hide yourself away? You know this can have only one ending.”

“Perhaps.” he said calmly, while inside his heart raced. It was time.

Time for the hunt to begin.

Time for them to roll the dice, pray they would land kindly.

Time to see if their work had borne fruit, sweet or rotten.

“Certainty.” she said. “Meet my father at Nanda Parbat in three days time.”

“Or?” he said, refusing to be baited.

“Or your city will run with blood. Starting with those you care about.”

And she was gone.

>>>\----------->

It turned out that Ra's al Ghul bought some insurance. Or perhaps, it was simply that Merlyn's gamble had finally failed, he had stayed too long, become too visible. Either way, the fact was that he failed to show up for their next meeting. When Oliver and Thea went looking for him, he was nowhere to be found.

Oliver swore. “The League.”

“What do we do?” Thea asked, no trace of fear in her voice. Oliver took a moment to be proud of the woman his baby sister had grown up into. While it was hard to grant her the freedom to fight her own battles, to take the risk of dying or becoming injured, at the same time, he was both pleased and relieved that she could handle herself. It made doing what he did easier, knowing that.

“We go after him.” He paced the room, quick strides betraying his anger. “Malcolm Merlyn has a lot to answer for. But he's still family, for all I'd like to forget the connection. And you do anything for family.” He stopped by Thea's side. “Though if he's let himself get captured to force my hand again, I'll kill him myself.” Gallows humor and deadly certainty blended together to mask his true intent. He wasn't even sure himself.

Not that it truly mattered.

What mattered was that the League held his sister's father captive, the man who had risked his life to stay, to help them. Granted, he'd also put their lives in danger in the first place, but Oliver's life wasn't so perfect that he couldn't acknowledge Merlyn's effort at making things right – as much as he might be annoyed at the necessity.

Oliver made the arrangements to go, quickly yet without haste, grief put aside for another time, in favor of the things that needed to be done. There would come a time for grieving, for the blessed oblivion of letting the emotions free, but now was not the time, so all was tucked away for 'someday', a promise made for later, whenever 'later' might actually come.

For now, it was time to act.

>>>\----------->

It was time. Time to go and face the Demon.

"Roy, take care of them."

"I will." Quick and clean and confident, pledge and promise. Oliver noted with pride how much Roy had grown, changed for the better in the time he'd known him. The team would be safe under his leadership.

"Take care of yourself." Roy nodded. Harder. God knew he understood that. The thing about being a leader was that it was so easy to put others first, to the point you betrayed your team by your body's betrayal of you. It took time and experience to remember to do both - take of others and yourself, a lesson they all were still learning.

Oliver turned to face the man he'd met as his bodyguard, grown to trust as his friend and the oldest member of his team. "Diggle..." So much unsaid in that one word, unsaid and yet contained.

It had been hard, that explanation.

_"Diggle, you can't come." Brown eyes, normally so soft and warm, grew hard, challenging ice-blue._

_"No." As Oliver drew breath to protest, he spoke first. "I won't let you go into battle alone again. Ever." Cold finality in his voice, stating boundary lines firmly drawn._

_Oliver sighed. "Diggle... I... appreciate the loyalty. More than you will ever know. But, believe me when I tell you that you can't help me in this." He reached out, a grim parody of the children's coin trick, then showed Diggle what he'd conjured._

_An old Afgani five-rupee coin lay silver in his hand, a reminder of another war, another time. He'd no business there, either._

_None of them had. He'd been a good soldier then, too, doing his duty, putting it before his pleasure, his desire._

_Oliver could only hope that Diggle would be the good soldier one more time._

_Diggle looked up to meet Oliver's eyes staring into his, infinitely sad. Diggle sighed, looked away, knowing full well that that was no sleight-of-hand that he'd just witnessed._

_"Can you honestly tell me that you could help in a battle like that?"_ Tell me you understand.

_"No." Anger mixed with bitter resignation. But his duty held and Diggle met Oliver's gaze once more, the soldier waiting for orders, pleasure and desire once again put away in favor of duty._

_"Keep them safe." Oliver gave him the coin. "That's how you can help me." Diggle took it, tucked it away in a pocket. A token. A reminder._

_"Of all of them, you're the one who's seen battle, the one who's fought a war first-hand." He grinned suddenly, a brief shining glimpse of the man beneath the mask. "And Goodness knows, you're the most level-headed of all of us."_

_"I won't argue with you there, man," Diggle sobered. "Take care of yourself, Oliver. When you didn't come home..."_

_"I will." He looked Diggle in the eyes, dropped the mask."This time, it's going to be different."_

_Diggle nodded, clearly doing his best to believe him._

_He'd take it. In return, he'd do his best to make that belief a reality._

Oliver came back to himself. A handshake, the rest of the words left unsaid.

"Laurel." They nodded at each other, cool acceptance between them. Then Oliver suddenly reached out, pulled her in to a fierce hug. "Don't let the anger win, okay?"

She froze for a moment, then returned the hug. "I won't," she said as they broke apart. Oliver was glad to see a calmness, a strength in her that hadn't been there before.

"I'm glad," he said softly, for her ears alone.

She caught the words, grinned suddenly, her face softening in a way that reminded Oliver of why he'd fallen in love with her all those years ago.

He clapped her on the arm, one fighter to another, before going and squatting down by Felicity's chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diggle herding everyone out, giving them their privacy, for which he was grateful.

"Felicity," he said, allowing all his love, his longing, to be poured into that one word, special to him above all others, her name.

"Oliver," she replied, her voice only wavering a little. God, how he admired her strength.

"I promised you I would leave you differently. This is me, doing my best to honor that promise." He reached out for her hands, held them tightly, pouring his love into her.

She nodded, acceptance, understanding. "I have to go," he said. "Merlyn was our ally. Is Thea's father."

"I know." She squeezed his hands in return. "And I know you have to do this."

"I will come back to you." At her sudden look of despair and disbelief, he continued. "I'm not lying to you, Felicity. This is not me feeding you a line so you'll let me go. This is me, telling you I'll return to you."

She didn't look convinced. He reached into the air, just beyond her range of vision, and plucked a small something from the air. He gave it to her, folding her fingers closed around it.

She opened her hand to find a small crystal heart. She smiled. Silicon. How well he knew her. She looked up at him.

"This is my heart. Keep it safe. And when you doubt me, doubt my promise to return, look at it and know I know what I'm fighting for." He leaned forward, whispered, "I'm fighting for you."

She gulped, nodded. As he leaned back, she carefully put the heart down next to her keyboard before turning to him and hugging him to her as if she'd never let him go.

Except she did. He could feel the resolve in her body as she chose, let him go, only to catch and hold him with her eyes as she had held his body bare moments before.

"You come back to me." she ordered.

"I will." And he had never meant anything more in his life than he had meant those words.

He rose, reached out, caressed her cheek, his hand sliding along her smooth skin as he memorized the feel of her.

Then he turned and was gone, like before, except not. Where before he'd left Felicity stunned and hurt, this time she sat there, fidgeting with the crystal heart and smiling, just a little.

She'd never be happy with him leaving, but it seemed that somewhere, Oliver Queen had finally learned how to come home.

>>>\----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### So now Oliver and Thea are on their way to Nanda Parbat, to put themselves into harm's way, in the mouth of the lion himself. Or the Demon, depending on how you'd like to look at it.
> 
> ##### The next chapter is finished, the one after that... is plotted, but not written. Blame this week's episode, which threw me for several loops, and into several new fics. (I was getting tales OFF my plate, really I was. *sigh*)
> 
> ##### As usual, if you'd like to see more of this fic, and sooner rather than later, please do the commenting, leaving kudos if you haven't, sharing on social media thing - it really does raise my writerly spirits and helps the connections with the Muse(s) into the bargain.
> 
> ##### -B!


	14. and the unicorn said 'yes'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Thea go to Nanda Parbat and see what they shall see. Reunions and surprises abound around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ##### The title of this chapter is the final words of the song ['The Bait'](https://youtu.be/2CkXBC5SNOg?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D) \- lyrics by Mercedes Lackey, composed & sung by Julia Ecklar 

In the end it was all about surprise.

The giving of it.

The taking of it.

They flew as far they could, journeyed the rest of the way on foot. Slow going, but the only way. The League built its home to be hard to find, hard to reach, but not impossible.

When they reached the valley with the imposing and impressive stone face of the League's home facing them at its end, they walked boldly into it and up to the entrance. There was no point in hiding. They were expected, after all, and the thought of slipping into the League headquarters was, if not ludicrous, at least highly unlikely, and a waste of precious energy and resources, unwise under the circumstances.

Oliver was proud of the way his sister stood tall during all of this. Her face, her body, betrayed nothing of the tension, the fear, the uncertainty she must have felt.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "Let's do this."

Oliver called out. Immediately, they were surrounded by black-clad forms that Oliver knew very well had been monitoring their progress as they made their way up the valley.

"Why are you here?" came the challenge from the one who appeared to be their leader.

"We are here at Ra's al Ghul's 'request'." Oliver said. The sarcasm over the word 'request' either lost something in translation or was simply ignored as the black-clad figure spoke a few words to one of the others, who immediately vanished inside, no doubt to verify their story. They returned a few moments later, spoke with the leader, who nodded.

"Come with us," they said in unaccented English. Command, not request.

Oliver moved, maneuvering himself so that Thea was in front of him, and he had her back. Even tho' they were expected, it didn't hurt to remain wary. And he'd not gone through all of this simply to lose Thea now to a moment's carelessness.

They were escorted into the great hall, the imposing stone arching over their heads. This was a building designed to impress and while Oliver refused to be cowed by it, he was well aware of the atmosphere it was designed to create.

Ra's al Ghul waited for them, in full ceremonial-dress. He turned as they approached, watching them impassively.

When their guards made as if to force them to kneel, Ra's al Ghul waved them off.

"Oliver Queen does not kneel." Oliver thought he heard the barest shade of amusement in the man's words.

When the guards had drawn back respectfully, Ra's al Ghul broke the silence that had fallen over the gathering.

"So. You are returned to us."

"You didn't leave me a lot of choice."

"No, I did not." he acknowledged. "But why are you here? I suspect my invitation was not your only reason."

"It wasn't." Oliver spoke calmly, his voice betraying nothing. "We are here to reclaim Malcolm Merlyn, stolen from under my protection."

"After breaking my law," Ra's al Ghul replied mildly. "So why would I return him to you? Especially alive?”

"He's my father," Thea broke in. "And... he's innocent. Of that." she added, realizing that the truth was best spoken here.

"He is innocent?" Ra's al Ghul asked mildly.

"Of Sara's murder, yes." She swallowed. "It was me. I'm the one who killed Sara." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her brother tense, ready to fight. To go down fighting. "Please..." She searched the older man's face, looking for any sign that he had heard, that he might grant mercy. "I know... he's done terrible things. Broken your law, broken ours, but... he's my father.”

"I won't say I love him, not after some of the things he's done, but he doesn't deserve to die for Sara's murder. I do."

"You display courage, child. Like your brother. You come in fearless, asking for the moon." A small smile quirked his lips. "Fortunately, I am in a forgiving mood tonight, willing to reward audacity and courage."

He signaled for Merlyn to be brought in. Thea gasped at the blood still oozing from barely-clotted wounds on her father's face, the signs of the harsh treatment he had received.

"Your father has paid the price owed to me..." at a motion from his daughter, cut off almost before it began, he amended, "...to us, in his blood and his pain." He looked at Merlyn, who immediately dropped his eyes.

"And as a father, I know that the harsher punishment is to let him live, to have him look at you every day, when you both know what he has done." He gestured. "The blood-price for Taer Al Safer's death is paid. I have spoken."

"Then why did you bring us here?" Oliver refused to be swayed. And while he was relieved that they would not have to fight this battle after all, the nagging certainty that there was more to this than what had been said, been done, so far, remained. From what Merlyn had told him and from what Oliver had gleaned from their earlier encounter, he knew that Ra's al Ghul did nothing without reason, many times more than one.

And if Merlyn had put in motion a many-layered plan, there was no reason to doubt that so had his former master.

"I wished to learn of you, boy." At Oliver's glare, he continued, "A man's heart is revealed when those closest to him are threatened. I wished to learn of your true nature."

"Why?"

He didn't answer, but turned to the guards, to his daughter. "Leave us. I would speak with Oliver Queen alone." He gestured to Thea, to Merlyn. "Treat them as honoured guests."

They weren't happy about it, especially Nyssa, but discipline held and soon Oliver found himself alone with the feared assassin.

"I ask again, why?" Stone and steel in his voice.

Ra's al Ghul smiled to himself, a motion which did nothing to relieve the disquiet in Oliver's mind.

"Because, boy, I wish to make you an offer." He gestured around him. "I was not the first to rule this place. But I have ruled here for centuries while the stars turned, while I waited for the man who would come and rule here after me."

Oliver's eyes narrowed, but he held his peace. The movement was not lost on Ra's al Ghul, however.

"Yes. You are he."

"Why?" Oliver took nothing for granted in this place. Nothing on faith.

"Because you're still alive. Because you already seek to change the world with your arrows and your crusade. Because it's time."

He led Oliver to a small table set with two chairs. He sat, gestured to Oliver to do the same, to partake of the refreshments waiting there.

"The world has changed. Those I grew up with would not have recognized it centuries ago, still less now. And I find I grow weary of the world, the change it demands. The efforts to keep our work secret, despite an ever-growing world, a world that one day, will reach even here." He looked at Oliver. "I do not plan on being the one who rules here when it does."

"When Merlyn brought you to me, when you survived the duel, I could have kissed him as a brother. For all that he had broken my law, he had also given me my heart's desire. That's the real reason I am giving him back to you alive, that I have chosen to forgive him his crimes." He shrugged. "And what I was said was true: he may not find his life to be all that he expects."

He shrugged. "No matter. His fate is in your hands now."

"You'll need time to consider my offer. Please, be welcome as my guest."

Oliver studied the man. "You're not thinking I'll say 'no'."

"I think you're a wise man, Oliver Queen, one who knows the price of a crusade." He stared deep into Oliver's eyes, his soul. Oliver shivered involuntarily at the power in that gaze, the weight of years, of centuries, of life, of learning. "And what he'll do to pay that price."

Oliver Queen closed his eyes. Yes, he knew. He'd already paid, been paying. And for all his pain, all the suffering around him, in him, he feared that he'd accomplished nothing, had nothing to show for it.

For all the blood. For all the pain. For all the death.

Ra's al Ghul knew him well. Knew the words to say to get him to seriously consider the offer. He was tempted. He had to admit that.

The only question was... would he give in to the temptation?

>>>\----------->

He was escorted to the guest quarters. He saw Malcolm and Thea, sitting at a table, eating and drinking and, from the looks of things, having a deep discussion.

He wondered idly about what they were talking about as he went over to them. He could think of many things the two of them needed to settle between them, he merely wondered where they were starting.

Suddenly, Thea rose up and slapped her father across the face, hard. He rocked with the blow, turned back to her, fire flashing in his eyes for a moment before he let it go.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly.

“Yes. You do.” She stalked across the room, turned, came back. “How could you...”

“It was better than the alternative.”

Oliver cautiously stepped towards them, looked questioningly at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Thea... an interesting story. A piece of history, if you will.”

Oliver came, sat on the bench across from them. “Tell me.”

“It's a story of love, as so many of them are. A love of a father for the son he never had, but perhaps should have. A love of the son for a woman with hair like the sun.”

“I was ordered to kill Sara Lance.” He closed his eyes. “I couldn't do it. No matter that it meant my life, I couldn't kill her. Not when she meant so much to you.”

“But I couldn't let her go, either. The League would simply have sent someone else, and killed me along the way for my disobedience.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze boring into Oliver. “As I have said, I am not called Al SaHer for nothing. I came up with a desperate plan, one that might, if I could pull it off, give everyone what they wanted. Ra's al Ghul would have put his plan into motion, I would save Sara, and you, Oliver, you would still have your love.” He looked away. “Even if she were far away.”

“How much of that night was real?” Oliver asked harshly.

“None of it.”

“How...” he started.

“The human mind is... a fragile thing,” he said. “It's so very easy to make it remember only what you want.”

“Don't expect an apology, Oliver.” His gaze was hard, unyielding. “You won't get one. I don't regret my actions.”

“Despite the pain they caused?” Thea snapped.

Merlyn looked at his daughter and his face softened. “Thea, I wish I could be where you are.”

“What?!” Thea looked at him in amazement, clearly wondering if her father had lost what was left of his mind.

His voice, when he replied was oddly gentle. “Because you have the unique opportunity of coming back from it. You only thought you killed someone. And know you know it wasn't real. The guilt, the pain, they can leave you now. You're free. In a way that I... that Oliver... that we can never be again.”

“You asked to be made strong, Thea. I did nothing but grant your request. You know what it's like to have taken a life, except that you haven't. So you have the knowledge without the pain.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

He smiled, a gesture which did nothing to relieve either the coldness or the sadness on his face. “No.”

“Good. Because it's gonna be a while.”

He nodded. Turned to Oliver. “What did the Demon have to say to you?”

“He wants to give me the League.” At Thea's gasp, Oliver reached out, touched her hand across the table. She clung to him as if Ra's al Ghul were going to take him away at that very moment.

“You would be wise to accept.” Malcolm said thoughtfully.

“Would I?” Oliver turned his attention to Malcolm, tho' he did not let go of Thea's hand.

“Ra's al Ghul has a habit of getting what he desires.”

“Sometimes. You said yourself you did not give him Sara's death.”

“No, I did not.” Malcolm acknowledged. “But I've wondered, in light of what's happened, if her death wasn't simply intended as the first play in the game. To start detaching you from your life in Starling, so you would be willing to come here and claim your place.”

Malcolm spoke to the air. "Ra's al Ghul thinks in terms of years, of decades. Of centuries. It would be nothing for him to decide that you were the one he wanted, to take action to make it happen.”

"Ra's al Ghul is accustomed to getting what he desires. He is also one to see the larger picture. He plots his moves out long in advance - he would think nothing of it to start with what God had given him, in the form of one small girl washed up on his daughter's shores and one man forged by life and some of the harshest training that was not the League's into a deadly weapon."

"I know he's been searching for a long time. Once... once I even dared to dream that I might be the one.

"Do you have a problem with not being the one?"

Malcolm shook his head, came back to them. "No. Ra's was right. Turns out I don't have what it takes to lead that kind of an organization."

"But you... you could do a lot of good in this world."

"Or turn into a cold-blooded killer. Again." His words were full of self-loathing.

Malcolm shook his head again. "Oliver, you were never a cold-blooded killer. You only thought you were."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." Malcolm looked away. "When I came to the League, I asked them to turn my heart to stone. And they did. And I did not regret. Even when I returned and looked into the eyes of my own son, the child I'd sworn I would always protect."

"Turns out the one person I couldn't protect him from was myself." He shook his head, lost in memory. Turned back to Oliver. "But you.... Despite everything, you've kept your heart. And that's the difference. The difference that will let you lead this group of cold-blooded killers without turning into one."

"I don't have your faith in me." Oliver shook his head. "Everything I touch, seems to die."

Malcolm rose, came to him, forced him to turn and look at him. "That is because you do not believe it to be any different. Trust with this." He touched Oliver's heart. "Verify with this." He touched Oliver's head. "This is a truth you know in your head. Now is the time you need to know it in your heart. When you do, you'll know why Ra's chose you, why I trust you. Why others trust you, follow you. And why you won't fail this time. Why you will achieve what you desire."

He let Oliver go, stepped back a few steps to give him room.

Oliver nodded. "Thank you." He smiled to himself. "Words I'd never thought I'd say to you."

"You're welcome. Words I'd never thought I'd get to say to you."

Their eyes met, acknowledgement, trust.

It was enough.

"Some would say it's a Fool's Journey."

"Maybe," Malcolm said. "But remember this, the Magician becomes the Fool again, and that is how he changes the world."

"You remember innocence, Oliver, for all you pretend you don't. You keep trying to lock it away, but you can't. That's why they stay, you know."

Oliver looked at him, question in his eyes.

"Your silicon blonde and the others." Oliver wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard the rest, "It's why I've stayed."

"Don't be afraid to be the Fool, Oliver. It's how you change the world." His eyes met Oliver's. "And we both know you want that."

Oliver nodded.

But there was one other question he had to ask first.

He'd lost so many, he couldn't bear to lose her as well.

"Thea..." He couldn't find the words.

Fortunately, he didn't need to.

"Yes." He cocked his head, silently asking her for clarification.

"Yes, I trust you. Yes, I think you should do it." She gestured around her.

She let go his hand, got up, came around the table to stand next to him, take his shoulders. He leaned into her.

"And if you're asking will I still love my big brother, the answer is yes."

Oliver relaxed. Under her touch, under the truth he heard in her words. Yes, that had been the question, the answer he needed to hear before he could make his final decision.

And with her answer, he was free.

He'd made his decision.

He would accept Ra's' offer, trust that, somehow, he could make the mad Dream a reality, that he could take one of the largest private fighting forces in the world and turn them to a force for good.

He'd made his decision.

Now the next was to tell everyone.

He had a feeling that that would be far harder.

>>>\----------->

Ra's al Ghul was easy, but then Oliver hadn't expected any difficulties there. Merlyn was right - the man did not care to have his Will contradicted, so an answer of acceptance would be... accepted.

At least by him. His daughter was another issue altogether.

"Father! What do you mean by this?"

"Nyssa, you forget your place."

"No, father, I do not. My place was, or so I thought, as your heir."

Ra's looked compassionately on his daughter. "It was. But you chose to put love ahead of your duty." He held up a hand to forestall her protest. "And while that is a noble thing, it proves you are unfit to lead the League."

Her eyes flashed hatred at her father, for just a moment, before discipline re-asserted itself and the mask came over her face once more.

"As the Demon Wills," she said, the words of the formula clearly ashes in her mouth.

Ra's turned to the crowd which had gathered to hear.

"Are there any others who would question my decision?" The question was mildly asked, but there was a weight of menace behind it, one that said that anyone not so close to him as his daughter would not be so kindly tolerated.

Ra's smiled into the silence. "Very well. Then let it be known. From this day forward, Oliver Queen leads the League. You will turn to him for your commands. Trust him with your lives. Die for him, if he wills."

"I have spoken."

And it was done.

"Nyssa..." Oliver called out to her, afterwards.

She whirled, anger and grief written on her face. "Don't speak to me, Oliver Queen. You may command me, but do not speak to me again."

She turned and left before Oliver could say another word.

Oliver made as if to go after her, but Malcolm laid a hand on his arm. "Let her go. It will take time." He leaned in, his next words for Oliver alone. "And the news you would give, is better told far away from here."

Oliver nodded. He would wait.

Besides, it was time to go home.

He wondered if he'd get any better reception there.

>>>\----------->

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### And as ever, if you like what you read, please let me and my Muse(s) know by leaving a comment and/or a kudo and sharing on social media - it really helps with the inspiration and the productivity.
> 
> ##### Thank you most kindly! :-)
> 
> ##### -B!


	15. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver Queen returns home to the homecoming he expected.
> 
> Now he has to deal with the consequences.

>>>\----------->

He faced his team, nervous. They were loyal, he knew that, but he'd never had to tell them anything like this before, never had to ask them to go so far for him before.

The trip back had been uneventful, giving him plenty of time to worry about this moment, wonder how it would go.

Felicity was the first to speak, rising from her chair to meet him as he came. "How'd it go?" she asked, concern and worry in her voice, despite the call he'd made, reassuring her that they were all right and he'd tell her the rest when they got back.

Oliver was pleased to see the crystal heart by her keyboard, easily within her line-of-sight as she worked.

"Merlyn's okay. He's with Thea, back at the loft."

"And?" Ever perceptive, Diggle heard the unspoken 'but'.

"But there was something else. Is something else." He took a breath, unsure of how to tell them what he needed to tell them.

"What, Oliver?" Felicity crossed to him, laid a hand on his arm. There was a part of his mind that wondered if this would be the last time she ever would. He suspected that she was not going to like what he had to say.

"It was a set-up. The whole thing."

The tension immediately ratcheted up and he quickly clarified.

"It's okay. It's over. But..." He shook his head. "Two things."

"One. Sara's alive."

"And two?" Felicity asked, a testament to her fear that she hadn't acknowledged the miracle of Sara's living.

"Two... Ra's al Ghul wants me to head the League."

"You said 'no', right?" Felicity asked, high and shrill, backing away.

This was it. The moment when everything changed, for better or for worse, forever.

He took a deep breath, then the plunge. "No."

"Oliver, tell me you didn't..."

"I said 'yes'." The words standing firm against the rising tide of her anger, her fear.

"Are you out of your mind?" She stared at him, completely lost for any other words. But just when Oliver dared to hope that that might be the end of it, she found some. "What were you thinking? The League of Assassins? A group of some of the most dangerous people on this planet?"

She took a step towards him.

"What about your promise to Tommy? The one about..."

"That's enough!" he snapped. "It's done."

Felicity swallowed, took a step back, looking as if he'd slapped her. Finally, she rallied. "Fine. Then so am I." She stalked over to her station, grabbed her purse and the crystal heart and left, brushing past Oliver as if he weren't even there.

He turned to Diggle, to Roy.

"What do you two have to say?" His voice was cold, hard.

Roy shrugged. “I'm with you, Oliver. No matter what. You know that.”

“Same here, Oliver.” Diggle agreed.

“Dig, I can't ask...”

“You're not asking, Oliver. I'm telling.”

He nodded.

“Thank you.” He glanced over at the screen, where it showed Felicity still there in the parking lot. He sighed. “I'm going to go talk to Felicity.”

“Good luck, Oliver,” Diggle said, the unspoken _You'll need it._ ringing loud between them.

He nodded. He had to try. He just wasn't sure how it was going to come out.

>>>\----------->

Her world was ones and zeroes. It wasn't easy for her to see the shades of grey. But for his sake, for hers, she tried.

She failed. This time, he had asked too much, asked her to push her ethics too far. She couldn't do it.

Wouldn't.

He seriously was asking her to condone his taking over the leadership of a group of the most dangerous people on the planet, ones for whom murder was second nature, whose crimes numbered in the thousands.

Not only that, but she was being asked to join him.

To join them.

It was all too much.

>>>\----------->

She stood there in the parking lot, shaking with the force of her anger, her fear. After everything that had happened, for it to end like this was unthinkable.

And yet, it was what was happening. She heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel, knew who it was without turning around.

“You're asking too much, Oliver. Do you seriously expect me to stand by and let you do this?”

“Yes. Or leave. Your choice.” Cold. Flat.

She muttered under her breath.

“I didn't catch that.” Steel lacing the words.

She turned around. “I said this isn't what I signed on for.”

“What did you sign on for?” Curiosity joining the steel.

“To help people.”

“We are. We would be.” Softer now.

“Not if it involves killing.” She spread her hands wide. “And with a name like the League of Assassins...”

“I could change that. _We_ could change that.” He took a few steps closer to her, as if his proximity could help her believe.

“No.” She shook her head. “I don't believe it.”

“That's the problem.” She glanced sharply at him.

"You love an ideal, not a man. You expect perfection where there is none. It's time to choose, Felicity. Will you love the ideal? Or the reality?"

"What if I choose both?"

"Then you won't do it with me." He crossed over to her, becoming the killer as he went. She involuntarily took a step back, hitting the cool metal of the car-door. He'd always been careful not to frighten her. He wasn't bothering with care now.

"This is who I am, Felicity. Yes, I am a killer." He reached her, loomed over her as he hadn't done since the fight after his return, and in a way that he had never done before – with the intent to intimidate, dominate.

She cowered back for a moment, afraid, before recalling her spirit, taking the chance that this was just another lesson, that he wasn't truly intending to hurt her.

"It's not all you are, Oliver Queen. Now back off and give me space!" She fumbled one-handed in her purse for the bottle of pepper-spray she kept there. If he wasn't kidding, if it weren't a lesson, she wasn't going to go easy. He'd taught her that.

And then Oliver did the last thing she expected: he smiled. And as he did so, he diminished, becoming the man once more. He took a step back, giving her room to breathe, both literally and figuratively. As she took her hand out of her purse, she felt the crystal heart brush her fingertips.

"Exactly. It's _not_ all I am. But it is part of who I am. And it's part of who Ray will become." He looked away, staring off into a distance that wasn't there. "Despite what he thinks now."

"I've accepted Ra's offer, Felicity. That does not change." He took a deep breath, prayed as he never had in his life, "Regardless of what you say now. So it's your choice, Felicity. Will you stay, knowing everything that I am, everything that I am choosing to be, or will you go?"

"I can't decide that tonight. It's too much."

He nodded. "Don't take too long." He paused. "One thing you might want to consider: as much as it hurts, you can't unlearn all the things you've learned. Believe me, I've tried."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Felicity to stare after him as he walked away, returned inside. She dipped her hand back into her purse, pulling out the crystal heart. She stood there for a long moment, looking at it, worrying the crystal heart in her hands, before she put it back in her purse, got into her car, and drove away.

>>>\----------->

Laurel was harder. While her fighting had improved a great deal, still the fact remained that she simply did not have the time-in-grade that the others had, and her innate talents lay elsewhere.

The problem was going to be in convincing her of that.

"Laurel, I need to talk to you." He arranged to meet her at a restaurant known both for its discretion and its pasta.

"What's this all about, Ollie?" She was so much more at peace these days... Oliver hoped that this wouldn't be the thing that broke that peace, sent her back into her grief and her despair.

But it had to be done. He could no longer afford the luxury of having people where they were less-than-perfectly effective.

“I need you off the streets.”

"What?!" she asked. "Why?"

"Because I need you in the courtroom." As the protest rose in her eyes, he continued. "You've improved, yes, more than I ever thought you would."

"But."

"Yes. But. But you'll never have the skill that the others will on the street."

"Where you shine is in the courtroom. I've never seen anyone better. And I'm going to need that."

"Why?" Soft blend of both horror and suspicion lay underneath the simple word.

He looked her in the eyes. "Because I've accepted the leadership of the League."

"Of Assassins? Are you out of your mind?"

"No." He paused, searching for the words that would tell her what he needed her to know. "Laurel, you know from your work at the D.A.'s office what having to operate with a lack of resources can do. You know from your work with us how little we can do sometimes. How frustrating that can be."

"The League can change all that. With it, I'll have access to money and connections and people that we could never have dreamed of on our own. We can finally make a real difference."

To her credit, she waited, choosing her words with care. "It's a beautiful dream, Ollie. But... what makes you think it can work? Why do you believe that you'll be able to change an organization that has been an instrument of death for centuries?"

"Because I've been there." She looked up at him sharply. "I'm a killer, Laurel, you know that. I haven't been the spoiled playboy you knew since... well, since the _Gambit_ went down." He steepled his fingers on the table in front of him.

"I believe I can change them, because I know what it's like to be that way. To be a weapon without a heart." A vision of blond hair and trusting eyes swam in front of his face. "But I also remember what it's like to have one."

She nodded. "Okay. I just hope you're right."

"Laurel?" She looked up at him from where she'd been studying the table. "Thank you."

Her eyes told him _'You're welcome.'_ as she picked up her menu. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

He nodded, pleased. One more piece of the puzzle was in place.

>>>\----------->

Malcolm rose from the couch where he'd been sitting, wariness written in every line of his body, as Oliver came into the loft.

He knew why Oliver was here, why he was walking into the room as if he were the Angel of Death.

"It's time." was all Oliver said.

Malcolm nodded. Time and past.

Time to pay for his crimes. His deceptions. His betrayal of them all.

He stood there and waited for Oliver to pass judgement.

“Your blood debt is cancelled. But you are not free to go.” Oliver's voice was stern, commanding.

Merlyn stood there, watching him, waiting to hear his sentence. He'd known. He'd known from the beginning that one day there would be a reckoning.

And while he'd not anticipated this outcome, still, it was perhaps inevitable that it would play out this way.

“And what would you have of me?” he asked when he could bear the silence, the waiting, no longer. He could not bring himself to call his son-of-the-heart 'my Lord', even tho' Oliver now literally held his life in his hands. All who were connected with the League lived and died at its pleasure.

“Your life.” Merlyn closed his eyes. So, it was to be vengeance then. He'd hoped for mercy, but was not surprised there would be none. After all, had he shown mercy to all those he'd killed in the Glades? All those whose lives had ended with a black-fletched arrow over the course of his career?

“No.” Oliver's voice came again, as if in answer to his thoughts. “Not your death. Your life. Your allegiance is to me now. And I will have it.” His voice sharp, commanding, not asking.

“Al Sa-Her, you will work your magicks at my command. Your arrows will fly at my will. And you will not leave this life until your debt to me, to all the others, is paid in full. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Merlyn had no doubt in his mind that his life would be long indeed. He wondered if he would end up thanking Oliver or cursing him for his mercy.

“Good.” Dismissal. Merlyn bowed and left.

>>>\----------->

"What's going on?" Thea asked as she came into the room.

"Just clearing up a few things with your father."

“What kind of things?” Thea asked.

Oliver steeled himself. He'd dealt with the father – now it was time to deal with the daughter. Firming up alliances, making positions clear.

The fact that Malcolm's daughter was also his baby sister... made things harder, but no less necessary.

“Thea, your father didn't have a choice. However much he has bent the rules of the League, he is still sworn to them.”

“To me.”

“But you, you have a choice. You are not sworn to the League, even tho'...”

“Even tho' I was trained by them, through Malcolm.”

Oliver nodded.

Thea didn't hesitate. “The one time, the one place, any of this has made sense is when I was on the streets, helping Roy and the others. So, yes, I'll stay.” She ran over and hugged him hard. “Besides, you're my big brother. How could I not help you?”

“Thank you,” he said fiercely as he hugged her back. Hers had been the answer he'd feared most of all.

The answer that had meant the most to him.

Well, except for one.

Felicity. He didn't know what her final answer would be: if she'd join him or tell him to go to hell. But either way, he had to know.

He took a deep breath. Tomorrow. He'd promised her time. And, even if it were the last promise he got to keep for her, he would keep this one.

He turned away, walked off to his room, to get a few hours of restless sleep.

>>>\----------->

He walked into the Foundry the next day to find her there at her station, the crystal heart in her hands, the light from her screens reflecting off its facets as it moved.

She was alone, tho' Oliver wondered if she'd started out that way or sent them all out with her Loud Voice.

Not that it mattered. The privacy would be welcome for what they had to say.

"Felicity." He acknowledged her presence as he walked across the room.

"Oliver." she returned without raising her eyes from her hands.

"Have you thought about your decision?"

"I've been thinking about nothing else."

"And?"

She shook her head. "And I still can't get my head around why you'd do this."

"Felicity," He came over to her, knelt down by her chair as he'd done what felt like a lifetime ago. "Ra's al Ghul is dying."

Her head snapped up at that. "Yes. After all this time, he is finally dying. The League will pass to someone. Why not me? Why not us?"

"Why not let it die?" She spoke to her hands again, as she turned the heart over and over in her fingers.

"Because it won't."

"Maybe."

"Certainly." She looked at him again. "We can either have these people as our enemies or as our allies. This is the time to choose. I've chosen to have them as our allies."

"A bunch of murderers."

"Yes. A bunch of trained killers. Who can help us create some real change in this world."

"But what kind?" she asked. "Is it worth it?"

"Felicity. I will be leading them. I have not changed. My crusade has not changed. The only question is... has your answer changed?"

"I don't know. All I know is that what you say, sounds believable. And that's what scares me.” She turned pleading eyes on Oliver. “All I can think of is that every dictator in this world must have thought that at one point. That's not the world I want, Oliver." Regretfully, she put the heart back in her purse, began to stand.

“That's not the world I believe in.”

"Felicity!" Desperation made his tone sharp. He backed away as she continued to move.

"Felicity!" He tried again, softer. "Felicity, that's your heart talking and I love you for it. But this isn't the time for that."

He came to her, reached for her hands. She stood there, allowed the touch, tho' he could feel her hands shaking in his with the effort to remain calm.

"Listen with your head. This will give us the resources, the means, to actually DO something, achieve something good."

"I wish the world you believe in existed. But we both know it doesn't. Not yet. Perhaps not ever."

"With the League, we can come that much closer to making it a reality.”

"By killing." she said flatly.

"Sometimes."

“It's no different than being a soldier. Or a cop. The only difference is that we're the ones both giving the orders and carrying them out.”

“And that they're supported by the law and we aren't.” she said, without malice.

He nodded. Truth. The thing that had stood between them all, finally out there in the open. For all she was a hacker, Felicity Meghan Smoak was, at heart, a law-abiding citizen. Even her hacking had been in support of the public good. The thought of stepping outside the law to that extent was hard for her. Even tho', from a certain point of view, what they were doing, what they would be doing, wasn't all that different from what she'd been doing all those years ago.

"Felicity, we all take the law into our own hands every day." She looked at him sharply. "When we decide if we will obey it or not. This isn't that different - it's simply a matter of scale."

He took a deep breath, a chance. “Do you trust me?” he asked. “Do you trust me to know the difference? When it's time to kill? When it's time to find another way? Do you trust me to help that dream-world of yours become a reality?” He poured the intensity of his emotions into his words. “The League will be led by someone, whether it's me or someone else. I've chosen that it be me. Because I believe that I can make a difference. In them. In this world. Do you believe that I can do those things? Do you trust me to do those things?”

He let her go. Took a few steps away. This had to be her choice. As much as he might want to, he couldn't make it for her.

She stood there, thinking, for long moments, the endless turning of the crystal heart her only movement.

Finally, she sat down, turned back to her screens.

“Where do we start?”

# -fin et commencement -

# >>>\----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ##### And there you have it. There are already pieces of a sequel peeking out from around the corners - please let me know in the comments if you'd like to read it.
> 
> ##### As ever, if you liked this story, if you have thoughts on things you liked, things you'd like to see in the sequel, please drop a comment into the little box at the bottom of the page. They mean so much and are so very helpful in encouraging the writing to move forward.
> 
> ##### Thank you so much for having read! A story serves no purpose unless and until it makes a connection with a reader. :-) 
> 
> ##### -B!

**Author's Note:**

> #####  [YouTube Playlist - Grist: The Enemy of my Enemy is my Ally](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL99Djnb8oDmjaVT-rzAN3JK0Y9vn6LP-D)
> 
> ##### Saw the teaser for S3E10 the other day, and it hit me hard. Too much grief gone-but-not-forgotten/coming-far-too-soon for me RL, and the reality of Oliver's death hit home.
> 
> ##### Ntm I was (and am!) simply astounded by Merlyn's... chutzpah? death-wish? in being the one to bear the news back to Team Arrow and that let me to wonder why.
> 
> ##### Which led, as it so often does, to fic.
> 
> ##### As ever, comments feed the Muses and me alike.
> 
> ##### -B!


End file.
